


Invalid Target

by Cameron_McKell



Series: Antivirus and Related Works [45]
Category: Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Frustration, M/M, Non-Human Humanoids, Sparring, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 10:24:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9230750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cameron_McKell/pseuds/Cameron_McKell
Summary: Coping with frustration through violence doesn't go well for Sam, or Tron.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Parts of this story could be seen as domestic violence, so please be mindful of your own comfort levels.

            Tron clipped his now-deactivated baton into place as he walked toward the digital arcade's entrance, where Sam was emerging. He smiled and reached out to embrace the User as he approached; Sam was approximately 1.7 cycles overdue for his last scheduled visit, and Tron had missed him significantly the entire time. Alan-One had managed his ‘mid-week visits’, though they had been heavily abbreviated due to pressing concerns in the User world; perhaps that had also been the reason for Sam's absence? Just as he was about to make contact with Sam, however, the User brushed by him, and made a harsh, chopping motion.

 

            “Not now, Tron.” Sam continued stalking toward the street, and Tron lagged behind, using the extra time and space to regain control of his visual output, and default back to professionalism; if his hands were clenched together behind his back, that was mere coincidence. He watched as Sam pulled off one of his gridsuit's batons, and clenched it so tight Tron reflexively ran a scan for structural damage.

 

            “I want to shoot something, stab something, or make something blow up.”

 

            “All venues of the Arena save the Lightcycle Grid are open,” Tron replied tonelessly, grabbing his own baton in imitation; any User on the Grid automatically became his priority concern over his other functions while they were present, which usually equated to following and protecting them while they worked. This time would be no different.

 

            Even though he didn't know what he'd done, or not done, to upset Sam.

 

            Worried and conflicted, he followed along behind the brutal pace Sam set to the Arena.

 

* * *

 

            “Stupid!... Never listening to me!... Oh _no,_ can't do _that!...”_

 

            Sam was angry.

 

            “Won't even pretend I _might_ know what I'm talking about!... Because Mr. Six-Figures-and-Five-Cars _totally_ knows more about the average person than _I_ do!...”

 

            Not just angry, Sam was livid.

 

            “Why do they all have the same allergy to opening... their... stupid... EYES?!”

 

            Sam left his disk buried almost completely in his latest target – and if that target _happened_ to look like an ENCOM board member, all the better – to snatch up his baton, engage the light katana code, then swing wildly at the next target puppet.

 

            The past week had been beyond terrible; it seemed that everything was high-stress, high-priority, and _no one_ wanted to listen to anyone else. Sam was even a little mad at _Alan_ right now; most of the time, Alan's cautious approach to business ventures usually worked in his, and the company's favor, but Sam _knew_ that they needed a big, bold statement and _fast_ , if they wanted their new product line to perform this season. Sam stabbed forward with his sword at the next target...

 

            … just as he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

 

            Startled, he turned the stab into a swing.

 

            Right at Tron.

 

            Luckily, Tron's greater combat experience and ability made dodging the admittedly uncoordinated swing an easy enough task; Tron neatly sidestepped the swipe, then reached out with a disk in each hand. He used his right hand to thread the sword blade through the inner hole of his disk like a significantly deadlier version of ring toss, then simultaneously twisted his right hand and struck at the blade with his left, tearing the sword out of Sam’s hand.

 

            “Gah, Tron…” Sam grumbled, then turned away to yank his disk free now that wasn’t _quite_ so frenzied anymore. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

 

            “I called your name seven times while approaching,” Tron contradicted, docking his disks before looking thoughtfully at the katana. After a moment, he shifted it into a staff, then offered it back to Sam. “Fight me.”

 

            “Huh?” Sam asked, docking his own disk so both of his hands were free to grasp the staff.

 

            “Stationary targets are suboptimal, and appear to enhance your anger. I will prove a better challenge.” It seemed for a moment like Tron might say more, but eventually he just blanked his expression even further, stepping back and readying his own staff once Sam had taken the one from his hand.

 

            “You sure about this?” Sam asked, suddenly noticing that Tron was behaving unusually. Instead of replying, though, Tron lunged forward, swinging low with the staff to hit Sam in the back of the knee, just hard enough to force it to bend, knocking Sam to one knee, before dancing back.

 

            More upset by the relatively gentle cheap shot than it actually warranted, Sam adjusted his grip on the staff and rushed forward with a yell.

 

            They almost traded turns going on the offensive, staff striking staff more often than either of them landed a hit. Tron seemed to be holding back to Sam, most hits lacking even the force to bruise, but instead of recognizing this as a sensible move – Tron could cave his ribs in pretty easily if he got a solid, full-power hit in at his chest – it only made Sam angrier, because Tron wasn’t taking him seriously.

 

            The fight came to a head when Sam, instead of pulling back after a strike Tron parried, shoved forward, pinching his own hands between their weapons to force Tron’s guard up, then slip around it to crack his staff full-force against Tron’s side.

 

            Tron staggered back several steps, one hand releasing his staff to carefully touch his side, which brought Sam up short for a moment. “You okay?”

 

            “I’m fine,” Tron said dismissively, twirling the staff in his free hand into a different ready stance. “Let’s continue.”

 

            “No, you’re hurt,” Sam dropped out a combat stance entirely, concern finally beating out his rapidly-evaporating anger at Tron’s uncharacteristic actions. He advanced on the program, reaching for his side. “Let me see.”

 

            Tron deflected his hands lightly with his staff, dancing several more steps backward awkwardly. “I am functioning within acceptable parameters.”

 

            “You think missing limbs are ‘within acceptable parameters’,” Sam scoffed, trying to get close, again, only to be rebuffed, again. “Come on, Tron; what’s going on?”

 

            “You expressed the wish to engage in combat; I am attempting to accommodate you,” he replied, frustrated.

 

            “Yeah, but now I want to see where I hit you. So move your hand and let me see,” Sam growled, curling his stinging hands into fists from rebuilding frustration.

 

            “Not until you forgive me,” Tron insisted, and Sam froze.

 

            “Huh?”

 

            “I am unsure which action I performed that drove you away, but –” Tron’s words fell on Sam like a bucket of ice water, so he quickly interrupted.

 

            “You didn’t do anything, Tron –”

 

            “An inaction, then,” Tron, uncharacteristically, interrupted him in return. “but one I would much prefer addressing, instead of losing contact for another cycle. If you find our current association no longer permissible, I am fully capable of maintaining professionalism –”

 

            “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Sam interrupted again, crossing his arms in front of his body. “Time out! You think I’m mad at _you_?”

 

            “You have been upset since your arrival, and I was the only one there to meet you,” Tron replied, slowly shifting out of his combat stance, and Sam suddenly recalled how truly _pleased_ Tron had seemed to see him.

 

            “I was mad before I even got here,” Sam admitted, and hurried on before Tron could interrupt him again. “I wasn’t mad at you. This last week has been crazy on the other side, and I just… I guess I just wanted to blow off some steam when I got here.” He stepped forward until he could push Tron’s staff aside, and grab his face with both hands. “None of this is your fault, okay? I should have let you know what was going on, or gotten a clue long enough to come see you sooner. I didn’t mean to disappear on you like that.”

 

            He pulled Tron’s face closer so he could kiss his forehead, then slid his hands down to his shoulders lightly; after some of the stuff his dad had pulled, Sam knew Tron had some pretty serious abandonment issues. Added on to the self-sacrificing tendencies that seemed to be the cornerstone of his personality… Sam sighed. He slid his hand down to cover the one over his injured side, and tugged feather-light. “Can I see, please?”

 

            Hesitantly, Tron removed his hand, and Sam finally got a proper look at the semi-circular gouge in his side, slightly larger than the diameter of the staff, as if someone had bitten clean through him. He winced. “Aw, man... I’m sorry, Tron.”

 

            “It’s fine, I told you,” Tron answered, but Sam shook his head.

 

            “Not it’s not,” Sam said, only turning his attention away from the damage when Tron wordlessly offered his disks. Sam took them gingerly, then began navigating toward the damaged section. “I should never have taken my anger out on you.”

 

            Tron didn’t say anything in response to that, so the two of them just stood there in silence while Sam carefully put him back together again, promising himself he would never let a communication fail like this happen ever again.


End file.
